


The Journal of Sarah

by Music_Is_My_Muse



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Abuse discussion, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Music_Is_My_Muse/pseuds/Music_Is_My_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah Moore is a paranoid schizophrenic. But is the creature she's been seeing really just an illusion? Jonah Rodriguez is determined to find out after she disappears without a trace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Journal of Sarah

_May 23 rd_

Jonah

My name is Jonah Rodriguez. I’m what most people would call a private investigator. My specialties, though, are cold cases and runaways. Cases the police have dropped: where the families of the victims have no closure regarding their loved ones. I’ve made it my duty in life to solve cases and bring an end to the sorrow of the families of the missing and deceased.

 

This case is another example. The police have generously shared their report with me. It’s on a girl, aged sixteen, who goes by the name of Sarah Michelle Moore. She’s the daughter of Rodrick and Marie Moore. Sarah has long brown hair, green eyes, stands at five feet seven inches, and is caucasian. According to her parents, they woke up one morning and found that she was gone. Her room was in disarray, but nothing seemed to be missing.

 

The police report was filed three months ago. There hasn’t been a lead since the first week of the case. The police had ruled it a runaway, as several of Sarah’s friends had reported that she often had strange bruises on her arms or face. Word was, her father was a drunk and her mother was gone on business trips so often that she may as well not have been in the picture at all. Add onto that a fairly recent diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia and a struggle with finding medicine that works, it seemed clear that Sarah’s case was that of a runaway or suicide. Her parents had reason to believe otherwise, though.

 

I finish reviewing my case file—there’s not much to go on, unfortunately—and head up the drive to the Moore’s front door. I give a curt knock, aware that it’s still fairly early on a Saturday morning. It takes several moments for the thick wood to swing open, revealing the single current occupant: Rodrick Moore. “What do you want?” He slurs at me. Waves of alcohol and vomit wash over me. He must have been binging some heavy liquor, telling by the way he smells.

 

I straighten my tie and introduce myself. “Mister Moore, my name is Jonah Rodriguez. Your wife has hired me to investigate your daughter’s disappearance. I thought that her home would be a good place to begin searching for answers. Do you mind if I come in?” I subtly shove the toe of my shoe between the door and frame, keeping Mister Moore from locking me out. “If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

 

Mister Moore grumbles a moment and rubs his stubbly chin, then opens the door. “Yeah yeah, get in here already. That way ya can leave faster.” I step inside and take a look around. The living room is a mess, and what I can see of the kitchen isn’t any better. “And before ya say it again, that whore bitch ain’t my wife! She wadn’t my wife anymore the moment she slept with another man!”

 

More information for me, I suppose. I’ll have to make a note to jot that information into my notebook. A cheating wife could be motive for using their daughter as a punishment. But for now, I simply nod my head and apologize for making an assumption like that. As they say, assumptions make an ass out of you _and_ me. “Could you trouble me with pointing in the direction of your daughter’s room, Sir?” I’m careful to avoid Sarah’s name; it usually only serves to upset the families of those that I am investigating.

 

After a moment I am led down a hall and to the first bedroom on the right, which appears to be just across from the bathroom. There’s three more doorways that I cannot yet access: one to the left, one to the right, and one straight ahead. I’ll investigate those rooms if I have the time and the opportunity.

I push into Sarah’s room and am greeted by what most would imagine of a teenage girl’s room: posters on the wall, lights hung around the ceiling, an unmade bed with a floral cover, and a messily kept desk. “Thank you, Mister Moore. I’ll be careful not to disturb anything of your daughter’s.” He nods and goes back to his spot in the dark living room while I begin my investigation. If this was really a runaway or suicide, there must be some sort of note somewhere. Maybe a diary, even. So I begin my search. My fingers run deep under the mattress, under the bed. I rifle through the bedside table and the pile of artwork sitting on Sarah’s dresser. There’s nothing in Sarah’s backpack that could help give a clue to her location, so I begin my assault on her desk. There’s nothing of relevance resting on the shiny surface, and I think I’m going to turn up empty when I dig through one of the drawers. I pull on it to bring it out all the way, to reach the papers at the back, but the last few inches won’t budge. Damn it, something must be blocking it! I run my fingers along the top of the drawer, and they find purchase on something that isn’t wood: a faux leather notebook cover. I gently yank it out of it’s hiding place and open the front cover. Success! There’s print across the pages, dates and what appear to be Sarah’s personal thoughts. I don’t have the time or privacy to read it now; there’s a reason Sarah kept this from her parents. Instead, I stow it in my jacket.

 

The last thing left to search is Sarah’s laptop. I turn it on, and a screen comes up asking for a password. I try a few things, like her birthday and leet-speak of her name among other things, with no entry. She’s got her computer locked down tight. There’s nothing I can do for now, so I leave it as it is, straighten the bit of mess I’ve made, and leave the bedroom. I head into the bathroom and quietly search the cabinets, coming up with a few different medicines with Sarah’s name on them. I hurriedly write them down before putting them in their place.

 

On my way out, I find Mister Moore asleep in his recliner. There’s a bottle of whiskey in his hand. If I had more care for the man himself, I might dispose of all the alcohol in the house. But everyone has their ways of coping, healthy or not, and at this point it seems alcohol is all this man has. He’s left his wife, his daughter has disappeared, and he lives utterly alone with his thoughts. It’s a sad life, and the only thing I can try to do is find his daughter. I just hope I can do so before it’s too late for her.


End file.
